I danced before Napoleon. No, Napoleon danced before me. As a matter of fact, he danced 200 years before me.

Ah ha! So that's how you hunt ducks! Yes, it's true, I finally had a really good day of duck hunting and by day, I mean I was out there all damn day and loved every minute of it. Well, maybe not the point at around 2pm when my goddamn contacts started drying out. Note to self: carry contact lens juice in blind bag.

The day started off par for the course: I didn't get picked in the sweat line but I did get put first on the "replacement" list. I retreated back to the Pumpkin and Ghost and I took a three hour nap. By the way, that car does not retain heat for shit! So cold, so very very cold. I awoke to find the parking lot empty except for another truck full of very patient duck hunters. As luck would have it, some old bastard limited out (7 birds) in record time and was at that precise moment walking past my car. I was soon awarded the prize of Marsh D blind. Hoorah! I would be up and shooting by 9am! Granted, this feels like noon for duck hunters as you've been up and ready since at least 3am but I digress. Marsh D was marked on the office map as having a "dry" walkway up to the blind. This turned out to be partially true as the walkway was partially underwater and the blind was underwater. That's right, palm fronds tied off to hog wire with two benches a foot over the water so no bueno for the hound. He didn't seem too bummed when I took him back to the Pumpkin.

Decoys up and bag hooked off so as not to fall in the drink and boo-yah, let's hunt! I recently bought a Teal call and dammit if that thing didn't work right away: beautiful Green Wing Teal drake quacked and then dropped into the spread. I popped him a foot off the lead deke. I really wanted a Green Wing Teal, they are amazing looking birds: iridescent green highlights on the head and wings with deep purple accents on the head. So amazing. Too bad taxidermy is stupid expensive. Next up a hen Bufflehead came screaming over the dike to my left and two shots folded her ten yards out. I actually got an "atta boy" from the next blind over.

Around lunch time I met a very interesting older man with, and I'm not kidding, one tooth. What he lacked in dentures he more than made up for in hospitality and information. Thanks to Dominick I got myself onto Marsh Y and found out why it gets taken first every time: birds like it and the pathway to it is high and dry. While setting up I found some camo material and made shade and overhead cover for Ghost and I and spent the rest of the day in total comfort. I now believe being comfortable is what made me miss every shot on every Northern Shoveler that came my way, and came they did. I had at least five flights of Shovelers come over, circle to my calls, and almost land. I missed every single one of them.

At this point I discovered that what I thought was a full box of ammo was a half box. D'oh! Six rounds left! Pintails came from behind and to the left so I'm shooting into the sun. Result? Three rounds down, birds win again. Three rounds left. Shoveler, again. Result? One round down, Shovelers have collectively made me their bitch. Two rounds left. A good sized Ruddy duck pops over the dike, at least 100 yards out and heads right for the far dekes. Fifteen agonizing minutes later the slowest and most wayward Ruddy duck in the world is within 45 yards. Shoot or wait? Ghost, what say you? Snore. Fucking dog. I wait. Close side of the dekes and suddenly he decides to bail so I pop up and take aim. Result? One round left, Ruddy duck down! I take this all as a sign that it's time to wrap it up as the prospect of collecting dekes in the dark sounds wretched. Besides, with the way I've been shooting I might as well take my last round and toss it into the drink. Either way, I'm calling this a good goddamn day.

Peace out, bitches!